


In These Hands I Carry The Apocalypse

by Grand_Phoenix



Series: Warcraft Drabbles, Short Stories, and Other Such Things [6]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grand_Phoenix/pseuds/Grand_Phoenix
Summary: And I will bring it home to you. [Alleria and Genn, at Brill, before the Battle for Lordaeron][Spoilers for BfA]





	In These Hands I Carry The Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> From the Fanfiction.net notes, 02/01/2018:
> 
> For the sake of clarity, I'm keeping the idea of Alleria and Sylvanas having already met out of this because there's been no indication so far in the next expansion that shows they have, although there is always the possibility of that having happened in the upcoming _Before the Storm_ novel (which I will [also] be getting, providing it doesn't get pushed back again). If anything, I'm going with the idea that Alleria has kind of been filled in about Sylvanas from both Greymane (who has a chip on his shoulder toward her for obvious reasons, although they are somewhat justified) and Vereesa (who, in all likelihood, may have framed her words in a way that paint the Horde in a bad light and omit the things the Alliance have done against the Quel'dorei/Sin'dorei, so I, like many others, can't really count on her to be a reliable source) so she's kind of torn on how to deal with someone who's not only family but a family member that's not Alliance. I'll be marking this as an AU just to be on the safe side, but if anything changes this will be rectified in the future when/if the beta comes out.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" Genn says, quiet and low. Alleria doesn't know if it's directed at her, to the King, to anyone in particular or to himself, but out of consideration she picks her head up and regards him.

He's in his worgen form (and isn't that the strangest thing, seeing a man capable of shifting into another form entirely, when there are immortal demons in the universe and eldritch aberrations in the Void that can consume whole planets in shadows and madness?), white fur streaked silver a stark contrast to the dark, barren landscape of what had once been Lordaeron. Among the tents and blue-gold banners of the Alliance, he is a splotch of white paint on a canvas that calls attention to the artist's eye, and it is Alleria, this outside observer, who is immediately drawn to him. Even changed, he still retains that air of cold regality about him. It is a wonder that the Kal'dorei, a people she had only heard of in stories and thought of them with casual indifference, were able to give the infected Gilneans the balance they needed to ease their feral urges.

"Hmm? What's that?" she asks, turning away from the statue on the ground.

"This land was beautiful once," he continues in that same tone. "This was a place you could call _home_." He doesn't move when Alleria walks up to stand beside him and sees what he sees lying over the horizon. Capital City—or what used to be. No longer do Terenas' beloved tapestries hang on the parapets, proudly displaying the emblazoned L to those who trundled through its gates. Instead the flags of the shattered masque stare back at them from this distance, white on black and purple and green. This is the symbol the Forsaken of the Undercity pledge their allegiance to.

This is the mask of the face of their Dark Lady.

Their Warchief. _Sylvanas_.

Could she even be called sister now? After everything she had done?

"I've had many disagreements in the past, Lady Alleria," Genn says, nodding his lupine head toward the tallest building of the Undercity. It was here King Terenas would meet in the throne room to settle disputes with the common folk and the noble lords and ladies of the court. It was here, after Stormwind had been sacked, that the Council of Seven Nations gathered and decided to retaliate against the Orcish Horde. It was here the Alliance of Lordaeron was born. It was here history was made and change had truly begun. "I have also had many regrets…one of which has nearly cost me not only my life but the lives of my people. Were it not for the grace of the Alliance and Varian Wrynn, I…we…would not be here."

He looks down at his hands, his paws. Alleria shoots a discreet glance at them and can't help but marvel at how huge they are. What could he have done with them in the time she was away? What had those hands wrought, to bring him this close to an old glory tarnished by war and plague? "I could have done something, you know," he rasps, and even though she's only been among the company of worgen for a brief time, she can hear the anguish undercutting his rough voice. "If I had not been so blind, so stupid to turn away from rebuilding what had been lost, I would not have turned away. I would not have built that damned wall."

Yes, she had been told about that by King Anduin: how Genn had constructed the Greymane Wall that encircled all of Gilneas and segregated it from the outside world after the Second War had been fought and won. The nation had already been overburdened with divulging their resources to aid in the reconstruction effort, and to have been tasked by Terenas to put in a portion of their funds to contribute in keeping the orcs alive in the internment camps was the one thing Genn and Thoras Trollbane of Stromgarde would not do. They had wanted to execute their prisoners, save themselves the hassle from wasting resources on a venue that would only serve to be a pointless drain that could be funneled into more important outlets. Terenas, however, stayed his ground, and it was with that swift motion he had severed ties between Lordaeron, Stromgarde, and Gilneas forever more.

Until now. Teldrassil has been set ablaze by the Horde and now, perhaps in a cruel twist of irony, it is the Kal'dorei that are now without a home. Even the Howling Oak, the tree that the Gilnean refugees had settled in and accommodated when their city fell, is lost.

Just imagining how bright, how utterly massive, the inferno must have been sends a sudden jolt of icy fear down her spine. Her mouth goes dry, and instead of Capital City in the distance she sees Quel'Thalas, Eversong Woods, sees the night become day again as the stars are blotted out of the sky.

There had to have been so many bodies in the water. Even if some of them managed to avoid the falling debris and fireballs as Teldrassil crumbled, the grunts on the Horde's ships would have surely targeted them.

_And to think,_ the Void susurrates around a mouth full of teeth, _Sylvanas is capable of such cruelty. Who knew she had it in her?_

Alleria finds it difficult to swallow, but she manages, and when she blinks reality has realigned itself back on its moorings. She breathes in through her nostrils, because she can't trust herself, beyond any reasonable doubt, to do it through her mouth and not lose her gourd right then and there. Not yet. "You can make up for it," she forces out, and in a steady enough tone she hopes doesn't betray her turmoil. "It's not too late."

"No," Genn says, reluctantly at first. Then, more confidently, lips peeling back in a snarl, "No, it's not." He clenches his paws into fists. "I was not there for Terenas in Lordaeron's darkest hour…and I was powerless to stop the Forsaken from destroying the land I called home. But I can still make things right. I still have a chance…and so do you.

"See here, Lady Alleria!" he cries, and he whirls around and sweeps an arm at the statue behind them. Alleria follows with him and looks again upon her sister's stone face staring back at her. "This is not the face of Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas! No, my friend…this is the face of Sylvanas Windrunner, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken! The Warchief of the Horde! The woman you knew and loved as sister died long ago. Only the tyrant remains! It will be here we will break down her walls, tear off the wings of her val'kyr, and corner her like the rat she is! There will be no need for iron chains. There will be justice!" He raises a paw and clenches the air, the tallest building of Capital City, in his grasp.

Alleria doesn't tear her gaze away from the statue. She cannot bring herself to. "Justice," she says.

"Yes," Genn echoes. "Justice." He turns back around and glares at the Dark Lady's visage. There had been many animals Alleria has slain during the march to Lordaeron in the days of the Second War, wolves and lynxes where the fur of their muzzles were stippled and their teeth bared, but none so filled with hate and pain—the pain of loss—as Genn Greymane, worgen-king of Gilneas. "She has taken so much from me: my people, my home…my son." He dips his head in a brief moment of remembrance…and then he tilts it back up, eyes narrowed. "I robbed her of power at Stormheim, not too long ago. It is only fair, Lady Alleria, that I take it one step further and stamp it out completely by ending her life."

She snaps her head at him. "Lord Greymane—"

"I will not ask you to land the killing blow. You should not have to stain your hands with her blood…but you have a stake in this. You have to be here. If you truly want to preserve the memory of the Sylvanas you once knew, then you will join me and bring her to justice. All I ask is that you help me get there."

Finally, assuredly, she can breathe in and out, but each intake weighs like an iron bar and grows heavier with every exhalation. Help him get there? To assassinate her sister? And what would happen then? Some of these Horde soldiers had even helped her secure the western front on Mac'Aree, well before the Vindicaar blasted the gates to Antorus open. Even now, after all these years, not every orc and troll was—

_Don't be stupid, girl,_ the Void says. _With her death, the Horde will collapse. All the pain and heartbreak they have caused you and your kin will be wiped away in a tide of blood and fire. It doesn't matter if some of the other races are in it for protection and convenience; they are guilty of association and must pay for it. Is this not what you have wanted with all your heart? Will you not claim justice for not just the high elves that persist but for the family you have lost?_

_You have the power, Alleria._ Our _power. Wipe the slate clean and begin anew! Give in to your heart's desire!_

It would be so simple to cave to the pressure and commit to the darkness within, as she had nearly done so long ago in the Second War…but Alleria is not a lesser creature. She has had a thousand years and then some to follow in Locus-Walker's footsteps and allow him to elevate her to heights beyond the simple personhood she had lived in for the millennia she has been alive for. She had strangled demons in the Nether and in alternate timelines with the Void at her beck and call. Light, she had even gone as far as devouring the core of a darkened naaru at the Seat of the Triumvirate to achieve the power she needed to push back against the Legion. Any chance of a normal life had died with her when she departed Outland into the unknown.

Back there, it had made sense to fight fire with fire.

But now…to use it against her own flesh and blood?

_Why not?_ asks the Void, and it smiles. Oh, but did it _smile_ , as if daring her. _Tempting_ her.

Alleria ignores it. She looks Genn in the eye. "You're right," she says. "I do have a stake in this. The question is can you trust me as I am now? Your strength pales in comparison to what I wield."

He nods. "Aye, it's a very dangerous power," he agrees, not unkindly. "But you must remember, Lady Alleria: I am no stranger to darkness. I have learned to harness and become one with it, as have my people. Ours is a weapon we wield in the name of the Alliance, and although the lightforged and those who walk the path of the Light may balk at it, you and the rest of the Ren'dorei have honed the Void into a weapon that will be used to strike the Horde where it hurts the most. I trust you well enough that you know what you are doing."

He spun on his heel and walked toward the tents where King Anduin was, the last she knew, conferring with Mathias Shaw and his lieutenants over which course of action to take now that Brill was gone. "We should be departing shortly. Make sure you and your troops are ready when the time comes."

"Of course, Lord Greymane."

She had thought that had been the end of it, but Genn stops halfway across the shattered cobblestones. "Oh. One more thing, Lady Alleria." Life energy covers him from head to toe in loose drafts of smoke, and he is in his human form when he turns to face her. He does not stand bent and broken by the ravages of time and war, but there is a weary aura about, carved deep from the hollows of his eyes and in the way his shoulders are set.

It is then it strikes her: This is war, a war close to home and to the heart, and Genn Greymane is resigned to whatever fate awaits him, so long as he has Sylvanas dead by his hand.

Not for the first time since she returned to Azeroth, Alleria feels the world beneath her feet about to tip over.

She doesn't trust herself to speak, merely gestures for him to go on. So Genn does. "This is for the best," he says. "We are going to do right for this world. The sooner we vanquish Sylvanas, the sooner we can deal with the azerite deposits and return Lordaeron to its former glory. You have my word."

The azerite…Light, she'd almost forgotten about it. There were reports that Sylvanas had some sort of war machine prepped and ready to go at the Undercity, just waiting to be unleashed. What kind of destruction could be done with the kind of power it could generate?

Genn is walking away and enters the largest tent in the premises before she can ask.

Alleria looks back at the statue again. The Alliance had not been kind to Brill when they descended upon it. By the time she had come upon, nothing was left standing. Even this effigy of Sylvanas had been toppled and broken in two; the method didn't matter anymore, but the telltale sign of dried blood and claw marks across the pieces were indicative of the rage the worgen inflicted upon it. It should have surprised her, given how much she has heard of what Sylvanas had done after the Second War, that they didn't outright smash it into dust.

But they didn't. This was not the real thing. The cause of their misery and hatred lay just beyond those walls, anticipating the inevitable.

_They will soon have her yet,_ says the Void, _and so will you._

_What do I want?_ Alleria asks herself. The face of her sister—the face of Dark Lady and Warchief—fills her vision, her mind, until it blocks out the smog of the sky and on the horizon and encompasses Azeroth as she knows it in its entirety.

_Who are you to me?_

_You already know,_ the Void tells her, and she is reminded of the day when Lor'themar, good ole Lor'themar Theron, now Regent-Lord of Quel'Thalas ("For never again shall Silvermoon have another king," he had told her, upon delivering her to the Sunwell), had banished her for nearly corrupting their precious well and jeopardizing his people—her people—with a folly that was not conducted by her hand.

_How do I know you have not fallen sway to the Void? He had asked her. How can I know for sure you are saying this as Alleria Windrunner and not the shadows that whisper to you?_

_How do I know your words are your own? She had shot back, trying, and failing, to not sound offended. Do you say them because you want to, or has the ranger I've known become the Warchief's mouthpiece?_

_I meant it when I said I hadn't intended for things to go that way,_ she thinks. She had thought it would be a simple visit: make the pilgrimage to the Sunwell and present to Lor'themar the offer to rejoin the Alliance, rekindle what former camaraderie they once had. But it had gone awry; her presence caused the well to react negatively to the Void energies inside her, and through the Nether the Shadowguard attempted to stabilize a portal that would allow the Void a foothold into Azeroth. It was not so much the fact she had been the catalyst for what could have been a catastrophic event that floored her but the lengths Lor'themar went to usher her out of Silvermoon.

_They don't know any better. This is a dark gift I've accepted and shared with others of like mind. It's only right for them to be afraid._

The voices of the Void scoff contemptuously. _Such hypocrites they are! to have the likes of warlocks, demon hunters, and shadow priests wandering in broad daylight but refuse to allow fine folk such as you a chance to prove how much good we can give back to the world._

Then, with malicious glee: _Are you not looking forward to showing the Dark Lady how far you have come, after all this time?_

_Are you?_ Alleria asks herself, and once again the breath is stolen from her.

Loosely, she clenches and unclenches her fists. All at once, memories of her and Sylvanas, together with Vereesa, with Lirath and Mother and Father, their family, come rushing back at her. Where had those days gone?

_I don't know,_ she says at last, and, with enough force to draw blood and shadow magic particles, closes her fist tight.


End file.
